Incubus Drabbles
by daemonfamiliar
Summary: A series of drabbles and oneshots set before and after the end of Incubus Anxieties. Random glimpses into the lives of incubus!Draco and incubus!Harry. HarryXDraco.
1. Harry's Epiphany

Warnings: Slash

Disclaimer: I still don't own them. (sniffle)

Summary: For anyone who hasn't read Incubus Anxieties, Draco is an incubus, Harry is his lover, and the live together in a flat in wizarding London. The first drabble takes place near the end of June, after they have graduated from Hogwarts. Draco is studying under Snape in order to succeed him in being the Hogwarts Potion Master, and Harry is training to be a mediwizard. That's all you need to know for right now. Dumbledore and Sirius are both still alive.

**Important for those of you who did read Incubus Anxieties**: I'm going to confuse you. The first couple of these drabbles are flashbacks. A friend of mine said that the ending seemed rushed, and I looked back at the epilogue and had to agree with him. So I am going to go back and expand on some of the things in the epilogue. First, of course, is the fall of Voldemort. Don't forget—Harry's not yet an incubus.

Incubus Drabbles

Drabble #1: Harry's Epiphany

Draco was lounging on the couch, immersed in a book, when he heard the front door close softly. He sat up and watched his lover stumble into the room, reading his body language with concern. Harry's proud shoulders were sagging with despair, his head was bowed, and his vibrant eyes were shadowed. The mediwizard-in-training sank down on one end of the couch and buried his face in his hands.

Instantly, Draco was on his knees, book forgotten as he crawled across the cushions to Harry and wrapped his arms around him. "Oh, Harry, love," he whispered softly.

"There were twelve today, Draco," Harry said in a voice choked with tears. "Twelve. A full dozen."

"Why do they keep bringing them to St. Mungo's?" Draco demanded, his arms tightening around Harry's trembling shoulders. "Everyone knows nothing can be done for a victim of the Killing Curse."

"Well," Harry said ruefully, raising his eyes to meet Draco's for the first time since he'd come home. "I_ am_ living proof that it's possible to survive it."

"That's no excuse. You're the _only_ living proof."

Harry shrugged sadly and relaxed into Draco's embrace. "He's got to be stopped."

"Yes. Yes he does." The two were silent for a long moment, Harry's sadness almost tangible. Fishing for something—anything—to try and make it better, Draco spoke up again. "You know you aren't completely alone, right? You worked hard training our friends this spring—hell, even Neville can more than hold his own in the Order now."

Harry smiled faintly. "That wasn't _all_ my doing. Neville grew up a lot after his grandmother was killed."

Draco winced. They were back on the topic of death already.

Suddenly Harry stood, dislodging Draco. The blond looked up, startled, and realized that Harry was offering him his hand.

"Let's go to bed. I want you to make me forget about everything for a while."

Draco entwined his long fingers with Harry's. He stood and pulled Harry against his chest, holding him tightly.

"I can do that," he whispered.

Harry woke in the middle of the night, the searing pain in his scar so intense it made his stomach heave, bringing him perilously close to losing his dinner over the sedge of the bed.

It was happening. He was here.

Harry knew this with an unshakable certainty as he eased carefully out of bed, being careful not to wake Draco. He pulled on a pair of flannel pants, grabbed his wand, and wondered for a moment if Voldemort would be able to get through the wards that Harry and Draco had put on the door.

He felt the faint vibrations in the air and in the floorboards due to a silenced explosion, and smiled ruefully. He couldn't say he was surprised. He pulled his invisibility cloak out from under the bed and gently covered his incubus with it. He wasn't sure how much Voldemort knew about Harry and Draco's relationship, but Harry figured that, if asked, he could say Draco was visiting his mother. Harry was _not_ going to let Draco get hurt in this.

Harry heard footsteps coming down the hall to their room. A moment later a group of dark, hooded figures stood outside the doorway. The leader of the group stepped past the threshold and turned to the others, hissing a stern, "Wait here."

The figure then turned back to Harry and pushed his hood back, revealing the pale, hairless, serpentine face of Voldemort.

He and Harry stared at each other for a long moment. This battle had been nearly eighteen years in the making, and the entire world, the fate of which could depend on its outcome, seemed to hold its breath. Finally, Harry raised his wand and inclined his head slightly to his opponent. That was as much of a bow as Voldemort was going to get from him.

Voldemort mirrored his actions and murmured, "Are you ready to die, boy?"

"As long as I take you with me," Harry replied calmly. He cleared his mind and reach deeply within his magic, preparing himself. Silently, he shot a disarming spell at Voldemort to test the waters. His opponent's slitted eyes narrowed with disdain, but Harry had noticed that the spell had only missed him by a hair. He'd been rather slow on his feet—the physical aspects of a wizards' duel were clearly not his forte. Harry supposed that he should have expected that. After all, Voldemort had only had his body back for a little over three years, and he did not seem to be a morning-jog sort of person. Harry hoped he could use that against him.

Suddenly he found himself instinctively throwing his body to the ground and rolling, attempting to dodge three spells in close succession. This revealed to Harry two things: one, Voldemort unfortunately approved of Harry's idea of unspoken spells, and, two, Voldemort might be slower physically, but he was a faster spellcaster.

Two of the spells hit the bedroom wall by the door and disappeared. When they had first moved in to this flat, Draco had used his incubus magic to armor the walls with an extremely strong spell-absorption charm to keep their neighbors safe if the battle took place in their home.

The third curse, however, actually hit Harry—and to his shock it disappeared as well. It took him a panicked second to realize, with a rush of gratitude, that Draco must be awake and had shielded him. He was relieved that his lover was staying hidden, a silent acknowledgment that this battle was Harry's to fight. As Harry felt his heart warm with love, he had an epiphany.

His mind racing frantically, he tried to comprehend what he had realized in that moment as he continued automatically blocking all sorts of unpleasant hexes. Dumbledore had always figured that the "power the Dark Lord knows not" was the love of Harry's mother but then, when Voldemort had regained his body, he had negated that power by taking some of Harry's blood.

Now, Harry understood that Dumbledore had been right all along, that love was indeed the answer, but not his mother's love—at least not all on its own. It was much, much more than that.

Harry knew what he had to do.

Wand out, he carefully began circling around Voldemort, who copied his moves, not wanting Harry at his back. Meanwhile, Voldemort continued to throw spells at him, which Harry tried to dodge the best he could. Draco's shield-thing was nifty, but he wasn't sure how much damage it could take. He didn't want to risk it collapsing on him unexpectedly.

Once Harry had maneuvered them both so that the back wall was behind Voldemort instead of himself, he did something completely unexpected: he dropped his wand and threw himself bodily at the Dark Lord.

Head down, he hit his shocked opponent in the chest with his shoulder, knocking him back against the wall. Before Voldemort could even blink, Harry used his seeker-fast reflexes to grip his gaunt arms and pin them down by his sides.

"Have you gone completely mad, boy?" Voldemort demanded incredulously.

Ignoring him, Harry closed his eyes and let it all pour through his palms into Voldemort.

Love.

He pictured the web of it that surrounded him. In his mind's eye, he saw himself standing next to Draco, a red cord of love binding the two of them together. Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Blaise, and Dean and Seamus stood around them, all connected in a similar manner.

Each of them were also connected to the each of the others by a blue cord: friendship. Pansy now stood firmly in the circle, arms crossed, on Draco's left, while Neville appeared with his head high on Harry's right, their blue cords connecting them to everyone else.

Connected to Ron and Ginny, Harry saw green cords: the love of a sibling. Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie were now integrated in the web, both as siblings to Ron and Ginny and as Harry's friends.

The web then gained another layer as Molly and Author appeared behind their red-headed children, connected to them—and to Harry, as well—with the purple cord of parental love.

With the addition of elder Weasleys, Remus and Sirius appeared behind Harry, a purple cord attaching them to himself and a red cord attaching them to each other. He knew that Remus and Sirius cared for him, but he was humbled to discover that they felt an actual paternal affection for him.

And, of course, above it all, there was the love of his mother and his father, who had sacrificed themselves for him.

Harry—the orphan who was raised with neglectful relatives—was surrounded by love; he gave and received it freely from many different sources. Tom Riddle—the orphan who was desperate to force his mark on the world—had dismissed the importance of love. He had never been loved and had never given his love to another. This was the power he did not know.

Suddenly, Harry became aware that Voldemort's scrawny arms were thrashing beneath his fingers, nearly breaking lose from his grip. His mind, which had been firmly entrenched in his thoughts until that moment, took a long minute to comprehend that Voldemort was screaming in a pitch that barely registered in Harry's hearing, the neighborhood dogs were howling, and Voldemort was half the Dark Lord he used to be. Literally.

Harry watched in numb shock as Voldemort's body crumbled away into a pile of black dust. As the last of him disintegrated, Harry stumbled back, holding his hands as far away from his body as he could and feeling his stomach roll ominously. When he noticed that his hands and fingers, and oh God, the grooves beneath his fingernails, were caked in black dirt, he fell to his knees and vomited.

Draco was off of the bed and out from underneath the invisibility cloak in an instant. He hit a button on his and Harry's Muggle telephone—an communication system thought up by Harry and Arthur Weasley in case an Order member needed help—and dropped to his knees beside Harry. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and murmured comforting nonsense in his ear, silent waving a hand in the direction of the vomit clean it up.

"Make it go away, Draco; please Scourgify it," Harry pleaded in a small voice.

Draco knew he wasn't talking about the vomit. "I can't, Harry," he said, agonizing that he had to refuse his love this, but standing firm all the same. "We have to leave it until the Ministry officials get here, so they can prove that he's really gone." He hesitated for a second. "Here, give me your hands. I can at least take care of those." He throughly Scourgified Harry's hands, ensuring that all of the black stuff was gone, even from the creases of his palms and from underneath his fingernails. He didn't care if the Ministry officials yelled at him later—there was no way he was going to let Harry sit there with Voldemort-gunk on his hands. His partner was going to be traumatized enough as it was.

Outside the doorway, Voldemort's henchmen were beginning to get over their shock. Draco heard them muttering angrily amongst themselves and looked up at them with a smirk.

"Are you really so powerless that you can do nothing but stand there now that your master's gone? Are you truly nothing but puppets, motionless if you have no one to pull your strings?"

"You insolent blood-traitor!" screeched a voice Draco recognized immediately as his father's. Sure enough, the Death Eater angrily yanked off his mask and pushed back his hood to reveal long white-blond hair and cold silver eyes. "You are my son, and yet you defy me, defy our cause, defy our blood? You were fortune it enough to be gifted with my coveted incubus gene, and what do you use it for? To be a whore! A slut who is interested only in pleasuring a man with tainted blood such as the Potter boy? And you practically aided in the death of our master, the one who was going to give us wealth and power beyond our imaginations! I disown you, boy; I refuse to admit that you ever once belonged to me!"

"Are you done screaming like a girl yet?" Draco asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Why you...!" Lucius shrieked, seemingly unable to find a word foul enough to describe Draco. Instead, he lunged at the young man he once called his son—which is exactly what Draco hoped he would do. Actually, he'd figured that Lucius would go for his wand first, but this would work just as well. Even better, actually.

Mid-flight, Lucius seemed to smash, face-first, into an invisible barrier. Blood spurted everywhere from a once-aristocratic nose that now bent quite a bit to the left, and looked rather squashed.

In fact, Lucius _had_ smashed into an invisible barrier. Draco had put one up over the threshold when Harry and Voldemort's fight had begun to insure that the Death Eaters didn't interfere—not that the thought had even seemed to occur to them until long after their master died. Being an incubus came with useful advantages, like the ability to perform powerful wandless magic with ease. It was fortunate for everyone on the Light side that Lucius had always concentrated on the sexual parts of his powers and had ignored everything else. He would be a much more intimidating opponent otherwise.

"That was dignified," Draco commented dryly as Lucius sat on the floor and screamed as though his nose had been chopped off instead of simply broken.

Thankfully, the sound of people shouting in the living room cut off Lucius' rant about how he would never be able to seduce anyone ever again, and the man quickly picked himself up off the floor and turned to face the newcomers.

Draco assumed that they were Order members, though he couldn't see them from where he was. They wisely had not come any further than the living room. To do so would require them to come down the hallway, allowing the Death Eaters at the end to easily pick them off.

As it was, the Death Eaters were the ones who were trapped at the end of the narrow hall.

Draco quickly cast a locking spell on the bathroom across the hall so that the surprised Dark wizards couldn't use it as a hiding place. Then, one hand still rubbing comforting circles on his trembling boyfriend's back, he watched to see what they would do. Would they fight or would they surrender?

Not surprisingly, they tried for the middle option: running away. There was a chorus of squelching sounds and the fearsome-looking masked faces began looking around in confusion, clearly not understanding why they were still there.

Draco snickered, bringing their attention back to him. "Honestly, did you really think you could Apparate out of here? How dumb would Harry and I have to be to not put Anti-Apparition wards on our house? You and your precious Dark Lord could have Apparated right into our bedroom, if you'd wanted! No, you can't Apparate in or out of any room in this building, let alone this flat. Sorry, boys and girls."

The cloaked figures turned back to the crowd in the living room, looked around at each other, as though silently conferring, and then raised their wands. Draco snorted with disgust. The fools were actually going to try and fight their way out of it!

Before they even had a chance to twitch, eighteen various spells came shooting down the hall in a rainbow of sparks and colors, and not a single Death Eater was left standing.

Draco snorted again. That didn't even deserve to be called a fight. He lowered his barrier just in time to have Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Arthur, Molly, Bill, Fred, and George Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Blaise, Pansy, and Ginny all rush into the room. All of them were in various states of undress, no doubt having been pulled from their beds by Draco's alarm. The younger group—even Ginny, though she hadn't graduated yet—had become official members of the Order of the Phoenix after school let out for the summer, much to Molly's displeasure. She could no longer stop the ones who had graduated and, though it had taken weeks, they had convinced her that Ginny was just as qualified to be a member as any of them—maybe even more than some of them—and Molly had finally given in.

Now they were all crowded into Draco and Harry's bedroom, staring at the mess on the floor.

"Um..." Ron finally said into the silence, "what is that?"

"It _was_ Voldemort," Draco informed them calmly.

Every single one of them looked ill—even the twins, which was no easy feat.

It was them that recovered first, though, and they knelt next to Harry, one on each side, each grasping a shoulder.

"You did it, Harry," Fred whispered. At least, Draco was pretty sure it was Fred.

"It's over. You never have to worry about him again," the other twin added.

"You can live a normal life now, without looking over your shoulder every step of the way," Ginny told him, standing next to the twin Draco thought was Fred.

Hermione came over and knelt as well. "And you no longer have to worry that you will put Draco in danger," she reminded him softly. Harry looked up at that, into Draco's eyes.

Draco flashed him a warm smile. "And you no longer have to come home from work broken-hearted because of the number of people he has killed. The killing is done, Harry. You ended it." He reached a hand down to his boyfriend, and Harry took it. He then surprised Draco by throwing himself into his arms, nearly toppling him over. He buried his face in Draco's shoulder and Draco held him close.

"You did well, Harry," Dumbledore said then, causing everyone, even Harry, to turn and look at him. "Thank you," the old headmaster added seriously.

Tonks and Kingsley went about tying up the unconscious Death Eaters and collecting all of their wands.

"We should probably call the Minister," Arthur Weasley commented softly as he watched them work.

"Wait," Pansy said when he began to head out to the living room to use the fireplace. He stopped and everyone looked at her. "We should call _The_ _Daily Prophet_ first. You know how Fudge is: he tries to take credit for everything. Wait until the _Prophet _has the story, then call."

Everyone began talking at once, arguing over what they should do.

"HEY!" Harry shouted suddenly, startling them all—even Draco. Harry barely raised his voice anymore, now that maturity had cooled his temper a bit. Draco's lover fixed them all with a blazing green glare and a stubborn set to his chin. "I killed him so I should get to decide what to do about. Doesn't that seem fair?" he demanded. The debating Order members looked sheepishly down at their feet and nodded. Draco gave Harry a squeeze and grinned at him proudly.

"You tell them," he whispered in his ear.

"Pansy is right; we should call the _Prophet_ first. I _refuse_ to allow Fudge to turn this into his own victory. I strongly believe that Fudge is the second worst thing to happen to Wizarding England—after Voldemort—and I will_ not_ help him remain in office. Do any of you know a reporter at the _Prophet_ that you trust?"

"I do," Neville said, speaking up for the first time. "Do you remember how, at the beginning of the summer, Professor Sprout and I discovered that—when well cared for and loved—a _mimbulus mimbletonia_ will actually produce a sweet-smelling liquid that is an effective cure-all for common ailments?" He was met by mostly blank stares, though a few people, Harry and Draco included, nodded their acknowledgment. "Well, we were interviewed by _The Daily Prophet_ then. The reporter they assigned us was very nice and the article was word-for-word what we had told her. I could give her a call, if you'd like."

"Yes, please do," Harry told him. "Meanwhile, I'm going to wash my hands."

Draco took the floo wards off the fireplace, though he left the bell charm on. No sense in taking any chances.

Harry was still washing his hands ten minutes later, when the bell on the fireplace rang, signaling that someone wanted to floo in. Draco told Pansy to answer it, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door. He stood behind his boyfriend, wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, and rested his head against his shoulder. After a few minutes, Harry relaxed back into Draco and turned the water off.

"Are you going to be okay?" Draco asked seriously, studying Harry's expression in the mirror.

Harry's green eyes closed and he hesitated for a moment. "I don't know," he finally admitted.

Draco grasped Harry's shoulders and turned him around so that they were facing each other. He slid his hands down his boyfriend's arms to his wrists, and then brought Harry's hands up. He kissed the palm of each hand gently, lovingly, and looked deep into Harry's eyes. "You're hands are clean," he said softly. "I promise. We both know he had to be destroyed, or he would have just kept killing. You saved hundreds of lives tonight and improved thousands more. We don't have to live in fear anymore, Harry, thanks to you."

Harry's eyes filled with tears and he buried his face in Draco's chest. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and held him tight as he sobbed.

Pansy knocked on the door, then opened carefully. "The reporter is here," she whispered.

Draco nodded. "We'll be out in a second."

A young reporter with short brown hair and a sunny smile stumbled out of the fireplace, brushing soot off her shoulders.

"Good morning, Mr. Longbottom," she said, cheerfully, as he reached an arm out to steady her. "Good morning to everyone else, as well," she added, taking in the crowd in the living room.

"Good morning, Ms. Scott. Thank you so much for coming out here at," he paused to check his watch, "3:32 in the morning."

"Well, you did tell me it was worth my while. Have you made a new discovery with your _mimbulus mimbletonia_?"

Neville chuckled and shook his head. "No, don't worry. It's nothing like that. In fact it has very little to do with me. Could we go ahead and take her back to the bedroom?" he asked the rest of the group.

"We might as well," Professor McGonagall said. "Come this way," she commanded, heading towards the hallway.

Halfway down, it was obvious that the reporter was trying to figure out what was at the end of the dark hallway. It wasn't until they actually got there—and people began stepping over sprawled limbs—that she let out an exclamation of surprise. "Are those _Death Eaters_?" she breathed.

"Yes, they are," Remus responded over his shoulder. "Don't worry; they're out cold," he reassured her when she froze.

The group all piled back into the bedroom and Neville gently nudge the reporter to the front. She stared uncomprehendingly at the black grime that smeared the back wall and the small mountain of gunk on the floor. "I don't understand," she finally said.

"That is what is left of the man who called himself Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore told her solemnly.

The reporter's jaw dropped and she stared at the black stuff some more.

"Where did Harry get off to?" Sirius asked suddenly. "He could do a lot more explaining than any of us could."

"He's in the bathroom," Pansy answered quietly. "I'll go get him."

A few minutes later, Pansy came back in.

"They'll be here in a moment," she told them. Sure enough, soon after Draco came in, supporting an exhausted-looking Harry. The crowd parted to let them through and they came up to stand beside the reporter. Harry studiously avoided looking at the wall, and instead focused on the news writer.

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter. Thank you so much for coming at such an awful time in the morning."

"You're welcome," she said, sounding a bit dazed. "You do realize that this is the story of a lifetime, right?"

"Yes, we do. That's why we wanted to find a reporter we could trust. Neville told us that you were trustworthy."

The reporter flushed with pleasure. "I am honored that you chose me. Oh," she said suddenly, "I've completely forgotten my manners, it seems. My name is Carrie. Carrie Scott."

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Scott. Would you mind taking your photos now? Then we can move back out to the living room for the interview, where there's a bit more space," he suggested, wanting desperately to get away from the bedroom.

"Oh, yes, that sounds good," she said, unzipping her camera bag. "This will only take a few minutes." She snapped a couple of pictures of the wall and the floor close up, and a few long distance pictures that encompassed the entire mess. "Could I take a picture of you next to the... remains?" she asked cautiously.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He stood where she told him, and looked into the camera, determinedly holding his head up and telling himself he would _not _be sick in front of the reporter.

"Perfect," she told him with a smile after a few shots. Then she went back out to the hallway and began snapping pictures of the Death Eaters. "Do you mind if I unmask them?"

"Here, let us," Kingsley rumbled in his deep voice. He and Tonks went around removing the headdresses of the Death Eaters.

Tonks saw Harry raise an eyebrow at her when the two Aurors began putting their masks back in place after the pictures were taken. "There's no sense in upsetting the Minister more than necessary. He'll want to unmask them himself, and things will go better for us if he believes, for now, that he was the first to do it," she explained with a grin.

Harry grinned back and her and led the way back out into the living room. Draco sat down on one of the soft comfy couches and, when Harry attempted to sit next to him, he snagged his boyfriend's waist and pulled him over to sit in his lap. Thus, Harry gratefully told the entire story from the warm nest of Draco's body, strong arms holding him tightly once he got to the part where Voldemort's body disintegrated.

"And, if I may ask," Ms. Clark said after he was finished, "how did the rest of you know what was going on?"

"Draco called them," Harry explained. "They're all our friends and had promised to help if needed, so once I had defeated Voldemort, Draco called for them to help us take care of the Death Eaters."

"But there isn't a fireplace in the bedroom—at least not that I saw. And owls wouldn't be quick enough."

"Yes, but there is a thing called a telephone in the bedroom," he said, struggling to make it clear to a witch that was clearly pureblood. "It's a Muggle communication device. I was raised in the Muggle world, you know. Arthur Weasley also has a telephone because he loves Muggle inventions. I can connect to his telephone with mine."

That wasn't quite the whole story: it wasn't just himself and Arthur who had a phone. Every single person in this room had one in their house, including the Order headquarters. They were magically modified so that if anyone dialed a certain number code on their phone, all of the phones connected to it would ring to signal trouble, and each person had their own tone. Harry figured that the idea of a telephone would be confusing enough to anyone unfamiliar with the device—he didn't need to make it more complicated.

"Oh..." Ms. Scott said, sounding as though she didn't quite understand, but writing it down anyway. "Well, I think that's all I need."

"Wait, can you get a picture of all of us, please?" Harry asked, standing up and hauling Draco to his feet. "Come on, everyone, gather 'round."

The Order members stood together and took heroic poses for the camera, causing Ms. Clark to grin a bit.

"I want you to list all of their names in your article," Harry said seriously, "and tell how they defeated all of the Death Eaters. Make sure it is clear that it was us who did all of the work, while the Minister of Magic did nothing."

The reporter's eyes lit with understanding, and she smiled and nodded. "Will do," she said, extending her hand to Harry. The two shook solemnly, a promise made. "I want to thank you all again for choosing me to do this story. It is a chance I never dreamed of. I've been in this news-writing business for over twelve years, and I'm still only assigned to do little stories—no offense intended, Mr. Longbottom," she added, and Neville shrugged good-naturedly.

"Well," Harry said with a wink, "it just goes to show that sometimes honesty can pay off."

"Yes," she replied happily. "Yes, I suppose it does. Thank you again, and bye." She tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and was gone.

"_Now_ should I call the Minister?" Arthur asked.

Harry closed his eyes wearily, then opened them again and replied grimly, "Yes. Bring on Fudge."


	2. Helping Alice

Incubus Drabbles

Drabble #2: Helping Alice

Harry slid his white mediwizard robe on over his street clothes and wished desperately that his coworkers would stop staring at him. Today was his first day back to work since The Voldemort Incident, as he and Draco had been calling it, and he really just wanted to forget about the whole thing and go back to his normal life.

But no, of course, everyone had to stop and stare and whisper about him. He was starting to wish he'd taken more than just two days off from work. He doubted his boss would have complained. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World after all, at least according to most of the media.

He checked his watch and saw that he still had a few more minutes before he was officially on duty, so he decided that he would get away from all of the eyes and pay his usual visit to two of the more permanent patients at St. Mungo's.

He slipped into the room and smiled at its occupants.

"Good morning, Alice," he said cheerfully. "Good morning, Frank. How are you two doing today?"

Alice smiled pleasantly as he sat down in the chair next to her bed. "How have you been?" he asked. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to see you in the last couple of days." He hesitated. Should he mention Voldemort's name? Would telling her he was dead help? He took a deep breath and continued. "I wasn't here because I killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

No response. No reaction whatsoever.

He decided to try again. "I wasn't here because I killed the Dark Lord."

He thought he saw something flicker behind her usually empty eyes. Was it a good sign or a bad sign?

"Alice," he said, when her gaze began to wander. She looked back at him. "I couldn't see you the past couple of days because I was recuperating from killing Voldemort."

He definitely had her attention now. Her eyes widened, and she seemed to be searching his face for an answer to a question he didn't know.

"He's dead, Alice. Dead. Voldemort is dead. I killed him. He will never come back." He didn't seem to be getting through to her, and it was making him really frustrated. He really had thought for a moment that they might have had a breakthrough. Then he had an idea. "Wait one moment; I'll be right back."

He ran out to the bulletin board in the lobby and took down a clipping of the article that Carrie Scott had written. She'd done an excellent job—it was exactly what he had wanted. Fudge had been _furious _when he found out that he hadn't been the first person to be notified about Voldemort's death. Harry smiled slightly at the memory of the red-faced Minister of Magic throwing a temper tantrum about it—right in front of the press. That hadn't been Fudge's best career move. He quickly went back the the Longbottoms' room and sat down next to Alice again. He held the clipping out so she could see the bold black print exclaiming, "Harry Potter Kills You-Know-Who Once And For All!"

"See?" he asked. "He's dead. He is not coming back. I promise." He held the paper for her to look at for awhile, but then her gaze began to wander again. He sighed slightly, but smiled at her. She and her husband had been here for years with no improvement. How could he have possibly expected that he could change that in ten minutes? He considered putting the clipping back in the lobby, but then, on impulse, he decided to use a sticking charm to hang the the article on the wall. He wasn't going to give up just yet.

It was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon and Harry was balancing a full tray of sanitized potion flasks in his arms, praying he wouldn't drop it. He was starving and tired, and a lunch break sounded like a wonderful idea. On his way towards the supply room, he passed the Longbottom's room, decided to peek in and check on them, and nearly did drop the tray.

Alice was sitting on her bed, the newspaper clipping in her hand. Harry carefully set his burden down on the table in the corner of the room and went over to sit beside her. She looked up at him, then back down to the article. She ran a hand over his name in bold print and then reached up and touched the name tag pinned to his robe.

Harry nodded. "Yes, that's me."

She put her hand over the words "You-Know-Who" and frowned at them, as though puzzled.

"Voldemort," Harry said clearly. She looked up as though startled. "He's dead. He can never hurt you or your husband again."

She seemed to try to say something, but Harry didn't understand.

"I don't understand." he said slowly, trying to keep calm.

She tried again, and this time Harry understood. She had asked, "Dead?"

"Yes!" Harry said excitedly, wanting to dance. "He's dead. And his Death Eaters are behind bars." He restrained an urge to hug her. "In fact, your son helped capture the Death Eaters." She furrowed her brow and frowned, so he repeated it. "Neville is part of the Order of the Phoenix now, and he helped capture the Death Eaters."

"Order?" she asked, clearly struggling with the words. "Neville. My Neville. My baby."

"Yes, Neville," Harry encouraged her, grinning broadly. "Though he is a man now. He has grown up. He should be here for his weekly visit any moment now, actually." He commented, glancing down at his watch. Sure enough, a few moments later Neville walked in, his arms full of flowers.

"Hey, Mum!" he said, cheerfully. "Hi, Harry, I wasn't expecting to see you here!"

"Hi, Neville," Harry said, trying to sound casual while putting a slight emphasis on his friend's name. Alice looked over abruptly and studied Neville's face for a long moment.

"Neville," she said finally. "My Neville. My baby."

Neville's beautiful bouquet fell forgotten to the floor in a rain of petals as he stared at his mother. Then, in two large steps he reached her bedside and wrapped his arms around her gently but firmly.

"Mum!" he whispered, his voice strained. He drew back and looked up into her face. "Do you really remember me?"

In answer, Alice reached out and wiped away a tear that was sliding down his cheek and murmured, "So grown up."

At that, Neville could not hold back his tears any longer and Harry made a quiet exit, smiling broadly. He skipped down the halls—earning even odder looks from his coworkers than before—and completely forgot about his potion flasks.


	3. I Can't Take You Anywhere, Can I?

A/N: **This takes place a week after the epilogue of ****Incubus Anxieties. **Harry is now an incubus and hasn't quiet gotten used to it yet.

Incubus Drabbles

Drabble # 3: I Can't Take You Anywhere, Can I?

The room was pulsing with music, crowded with bodies moving and grinding together, and saturated with the smell of alcohol. A strobe light was the only illumination, making everything seem even more insane than it already was.

Harry was losing control very quickly.

He had only been an incubus for a week and he hadn't quite mastered how to shut off his instincts yet. He was standing beside Draco in the middle of the room, head down, as he practiced the breathing exercises Snape had taught Draco, who had of course taught Harry, trying his best to block out the people that pressed against him on every side. The entire atmosphere seemed to scream "sex" and the incubus in Harry wanted to scream back.

Draco gently took Harry's arm and steered him carefully towards the back of the room, trying to bump him into as few people as possible.

"Okay, Harry," he said quietly. "Concentrate. Breathe." He maneuvered the two of them into a relatively empty corner and then stood a bit away, making sure there was a good bit of distance between them. He gave him a couple minutes and then asked, "How are you doing?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Draco.

"Oh, shite." Harry's eyes were glowing like twin neon orbs in the darkness of the club. "You aren't going to make it, are you?"

It was more of a statement than a question, but Harry shook his head anyway.

"All right, let's get you over to Ron and let him know we're leaving early. Not that he'll remember in the morning anyway, but it's the thought that counts, right? Now keep your eyes closed. I'll guide you over to where he is."

He took Harry's arm again and hauled him over to where Ron sat with Seamus and Dean, each with a flagon of firewhiskey in hand.

"Hey, Weasley!" he yelled over they roar of the music. "We wanted to come and offer you our congratulations one more time. We're going to head home."

"Aww, 'ow come?" Seamus asked, swaying a bit on his stool. "It's only midnight. The party's jus' gettin' good!"

"Open your eyes," he instructed Harry. His lover did as he was bid, and all three of their Gryffindor friends caught their breath. Even drunk, they knew that it was a very bad thing if either Harry's or Draco's eyes began glowing. They had warned them early on to help prevent any messy situations.

"Right, then." Ron said hurriedly. "You'll be at the wedding tomorrow, though, won't you? You're my best man; you gotta be there!"

"Don't worry, Ron. He'll be fine in the morning," Draco assured him. "I'll make sure of that," he added with a wink that made the redhead grimace. "And here, an early wedding present," he said, taking a miniaturized flask out of his pocket, returning it to its original size with a silent spell, and sliding it across the bar to Ron. "I have a feeling you might need it."

"What is it?" he asked warily.

"It's a hangover remedy you can take when you have to get up at eight tomorrow to get ready for the wedding after ten firewiskeys and two hours of sleep."

"I've only had five so far!" he said defensively.

"True, but as Finnegan pointed out, the night's still young. I'll see you all tomorrow!"

With that he Apparated both himself and his boyfriend back to their flat.

"Now," he said with an evil grin. "Let's take care of your little problem."

"Fine, but I'm topping."

"Do you see me complaining?"


	4. The Love of a Potions Master

Incubus Drabbles

Drabble #4: The Love of a Potions Master

Harry Potter, the savior of the world as we know it, could not believe he was in this position. He strained against the bonds securing his wrists and ankles, his thoughts frantic as sweat poured down his body. How long was he going to be held captive? It felt like he had been tied up here for hours. He opened his eyes and searched through the darkness for his captor, but even with an incubus' enhanced vision, he could not find him

"Draco... dammit... _please_!" he panted. Out of nowhere he felt a tongue swipe against his hip and he cried out, jerking against the silk ties that kept him from pouncing on Draco and having his way with him that very instant.

"Oh come on, Harry," Draco had said earlier this evening, dangling a red-and-gold tie in one hand and a green-and-silver tie in the other. "It'll be _fun_. It'll be exciting!"

Harry now decided that he was going to kill him.

"You do know I'm going to _murder _you once I get out of this, right?" Harry growled at his lover.

"Well, that's not much incentive for me to let you go anytime soon, now is it?" Draco commented. Harry could _hear_ the smirk in his voice.

"I hate you."

"I love you, too," Draco told him, knowing full well Harry didn't mean a word of it.

"_Please_, Draco," he begged one more time. Suddenly Draco was there, right next to him, only inches away but Harry still couldn't reach him.

"Do you know what's good about having a lover who's a potion master?"

Oh, God. This couldn't be good.

"N-no," Harry stuttered. "What?"

"Because I can brew up potions that are all sorts of fun to use during sex."

Oh,_ God._

"Like the one in my hand, for instance, that can keep you from coming for _hours_, no matter what I do to you."

Oh, God; oh, God; oh, God.

"Oh, God," Harry moaned, finally putting the mental litany into words.

"Oh, I'm not God, Harry," Draco murmured seductively, gray eyes glinting in the darkness. "I am much, much worse."

Five hours later found the savior of the world as we know it sprawled across the bed, absolutely soaked with sweat.

"Do you still want to murder me, Potter?" Draco asked slyly, lying just as exhausted next to him.

Harry grimaced. It was funny how Draco's smirk was nearly tangible, despite the fact that he was panting heavily. He turned so he could look Draco in the eyes, and gave him a smirk of his own. In one lightning-fast movement, he held the half-empty flask in his hand.

"What fun would it be to kill you?" he asked, dangling the flask in front of Draco's nose. "I'd much rather get revenge."

Draco's gulp was audible and Harry, whose green eyes were beginning to glow again chuckled low and evilly in his chest..


	5. Pansy the Psychiatrist

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or associated characters, nor do I own the world in which they live.

Incubus Anxieties

Drabble #5: Pansy the Psychiatrist

Harry, decked out in red-and-gold oven mitts and an apron that declared, "Shag the cook," was pulling a pan of chicken out of the oven when the fireplace bell rang. "Could you get that, love?" he called over his shoulder, then let out a surprised expletive when his bare upper arm brushed against the hot metal of the oven door.

Draco walked by, paused to lick Harry's arm where he'd burned it, and then continued towards the fireplace. Harry laughed at him, set the pan down on the top of the stove, and performed a simple healing charm.

"Hey, Pansy," he said, still grinning cockily, when he saw her head in the flames.

"Guess what!" she exclaimed. Draco could only see her head, but he could tell that she was nearly bouncing with excitement.

"What?"

"My first client called to schedule an appointment with me!" she shouted happily. Ever since Pansy graduated, she had been training to be a wizarding psychiatrist. Her mentor had declared her qualified for small cases only a week ago.

"That's awesome, Pansy! How 'bout you come over for dinner this weekend and we can celebrate? Do you have any problems with that, Harry?" he called over his shoulder.

"Problems with what?" Harry asked, hanging the apron up on its hook and coming into the room to stand beside Draco.

"Having Pansy over for dinner Friday night to congratulate her on her first client."

"You got a client? That's wonderful" Harry told her. "Of course you should come over and have dinner. In fact," he said, pausing to think for a moment, "Friday is Draco's day to cook this week, so yes, by all means, come over!"

Harry grinned at his scowling boyfriend, making Pansy laugh.

"All right, I'll see you two in a couple of days, then!"

"Good luck!" Harry called as she vanished.

Harry answered the door on Friday evening to a beaming Pansy Parkinson.

"Hey! How'd it go?"

"It was only an introductory session, but it gave me a lot to think about. Unfortunately, I can't tell you guys much. Patient confidentiality and all that."

"Yeah, we understand. Come in; come in. Draco's cooking God-knows-what in the kitchen and he's cursing up a storm, so we should probably stay out of his way."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Will dinner be safe to eat?"  
"Oh, yeah," Harry assured her with a grin. "Draco's an awesome cook. I think it comes with being a potions master. But apparently things keep going wrong in there, and Draco hates it whenever things don't go exactly how he planned them."

"POTTER!" Draco's voice roared from the kitchen. Harry winced.

"Yes, love?" he called back nervously.

"We're fucking out of milk!"

Harry winced again. "I guess it would be rather suicidal for me to point out that I told him yesterday to make a grocery list of everything he needed for tonight, and milk was _not _on the list?" he whispered to Pansy.

She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter. "I don't think it would be worth the pain," she whispered back to him.

Harry nodded fervently in agreement. "I'll be right back." He disappeared into the kitchen. Pansy heard Draco begin cursing, then stop abruptly. She peeked around the doorway, and then had to clap her hand over her mouth again as she saw Harry ravishing Draco against the counter. Just when she was beginning to wonder if she should remind them that there was food in the oven, Harry pulled back and grinned roguishly at his partner.

"I'll just run to the store and get the milk now, shall I?" he asked lightly. Draco nodded rather dazedly, causing Harry to grin wider. Then he looked a bit more serious. "You need to _relax,_ Draco."

"But—"

Harry put a finger to Draco's lips. "No buts. It's only Pansy you're cooking for. She knows better than anyone besides myself that not even Malfoys are as perfect as they make themselves out to be. It's not the end of the world if a few things go wrong."

"I guess you're right," Draco had to admit. "So if I calm down will you go get the milk?"

"Sounds like a deal to me," Harry declared. He leaned forward and sealed the agreement with a kiss.

He came back into the living room and smirked at Pansy, who attempted to look as though she had not been eavesdropping on their conversation. He shook his head at her.

"I'll be back in a few," he announced as he headed for the door. "Draco is a bit calmer, but it still might be best if you avoided going in the kitchen."

"Well don't take too long. I can't just snog him senseless if he starts to get worked up again," she teased. Harry made a face at her, then left.

Pansy had just made herself comfortable on the couch when the doorbell rang. "I've got it; don't worry about it," she shouted when she heard Draco curse again. She opened the door to find Neville Longbottom on the doorstep.

"Hi, Neville!" she said, surprised.

"Hey, Pansy. Is Harry here?" he asked.

She swung the door the rest of the way open. "No, he just left a few minutes ago to run to the store. He'll be back soon; I'm sure it'd be okay if you came in."

She closed the door after Neville and poked her head into the kitchen.

"Draco, Neville's here looking for Harry. Is it okay if he stays until Harry gets back from the store?"

Draco looked up and Pansy had to put a lot of effort into not laughing at the flour dusting his clothing and smudged on his nose. After all, he had a particularly large, serrated knife in his hand and as a Slytherin she knew that laughing at an armed man—especially a rather vain, armed man—was not in her best self-interest.

"Sure," he replied, unaware of her internal struggle against her amusement. "Harry shouldn't be too much longer. At least he better not be," he added with a growl.

The fearsome Malfoy scowl did not mix well with the powder smeared across Draco's face, and Pansy's laughter finally bubbled up out of control. The scowl was turned on her as a result and she began backing quickly out of the kitchen, palms up in helpless surrender.

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry; please don't poison my food," she managed to splutter out breathlessly. "I'll just go keep Neville company and get out of your hair."

Draco huffed slightly and turned back to his ingredients while Pansy ducked around the doorway and into the relative safety of the living room.

She paused then, just a few steps from the kitchen, as her breath caught in her throat. Neville was kneeling beside the large potted fern that squatted decoratively to the left of the couch, murmuring softly as he ran his fingers over the delicate green fronds and pinnae. The expression on his face was what had stopped her heart for a moment. The softest, gentlest smile she had ever seen curved his lips slightly, and she found herself wondering what it would be like to be cared for so deeply, to be on the receiving end of such a tender smile. Taking advantage of her unexpected position of being able to observe Neville without him realizing it, she seriously studied him for the first time since she met him.

Neville Longbottom had grown up considerably since the small, pudgy first-year with the runaway toad had boarded the Hogwarts Express almost eight years ago. He had lost an alarming amount of weight when his grandmother had been murdered, and Pansy was relieved to note that his face was regaining much of its familiar roundness. He was fractionally taller than her—if at all—making him rather short for a man his age, but he carried himself with a quiet self-confidence that he hadn't possessed before. He was more self-contained than shy these days, though a bit of the shyness still showed through every now and then. She wondered how she had managed to be so blind for so long to he man that he had become.

She back up a few steps and reentered the room, deliberately stepping heavily. Neville looked up and smile at her, and genuinely cheerful smile, but nothing like the one she had just seen. She smiled hesitantly back, berating herself for feeling so inexcusably jealous towards a simple houseplant. He rose to his knees, stumbled a bit, and then grinned sheepishly at her as he dusted the dirt off his hands. The front door swung open then to admit a slightly out-of-breath Harry clutching two cartons of milk to his chest.

"Hey, Neville. I thought that was your auto out front," he said, already headed towards the kitchen. "Give me just a second to make this delivery, and I'll be right with you."

Pansy turned back to Neville as Harry disappeared. "You drove here?" she asked in confusion.

"Yes, I decided to stop by while I was on my way home from work. I always drive to and from the greenhouses because plants are very delicate organisms, and I'm often transporting them from one place to another. The absolute lack of light caused by apparation can kill chloroplasts in plant cells, permanently bleaching them of color," he explained. "Plants, especially the decorative ones, are nothing if not vain. They get very grumpy when their chloroplasts get destroyed. Apparating frequently can also damage young blossoms and make herbs taste flat. Traveling by floo doesn't work very well, either. The powder gets into the soil of a potted plant and acts as a slow poison. There is no way to remove it besides completely changing the soil, and that's a pain to do on a regular basis. Floo powder also affects the tastes of edible plants. You definitely don't want your mint, cinnamon, or strawberries tasting like floo powder, trust me. It's not a pleasant taste."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Pansy said with a smile. _He would be a good Herbology teacher_, she thought to herself.

With the crucial milk delivered safely and Draco puttering around the kitchen in a much more tranquil state of mind, Harry returned to the living room.

"How have you been, Neville? Are you still making progress with your mother?" he asked his friend.

"That's what I stopped by to talk to you about, actually," Neville said, clasping his hands behind his back as a blush rose to his cheeks. "I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done. I never dreamed that my parents might recover at all, but my mother recognizes me when I go in now, and she remembers most of what I've told her in previous visits. It's a dream come true for me, really. So thank you."

Harry smiled warmly at his nervous friend. "No thanks are necessary, Neville. That's why I became a mediwizard in the first place: I wanted to help people. Draco said that there will be plenty of food for one more. If you'd like to stay, we'd love to have you."

Neville grinned widely. "I'd love to."

Later that night, Draco yawned and shuffled into the kitchen to see if Harry was done with the dishes. Generally, they tried to keep the housework evenly dispersed, so since Draco cooked, Harry cleaned up. He was pleased to find the kitchen neat and tidy, with Harry seated at the table with his hands curled around a mug of hot chocolate. He paused to take in the expression on Harry's face and raised an eyebrow.

"I know that look. What are you plotting?" he asked.

Harry continued to stare into the dark liquid in his mug as though he could see the pieces of whatever puzzle currently had the wheels in his mind turning in its depths and was trying to figure out how they fit together. When he finally spoke, it seemed to Draco he was half responding to his question and half thinking aloud.

"I've long suspected that there was something deeper lurking in Pansy and Neville's relationship with each other than just casual friendship, you know."

"Really?" Draco asked, startled by both the unexpected topic and the suggestion. He'd never noticed anything untoward about the way his two friends treated each other.

"Yes, but so much time passed without any kind of development; I'd begun to think that maybe I was wrong." He looked up then and met Draco's eyes. "I saw something today, though. When I walked though the front door after getting the milk earlier, Pansy look... dazed, I suppose. And flushed. She was looking at Neville like she'd never seen him before right then."

His interest piqued, Draco sat in the chair next to Harry and propped his chin on his fist. "Go on, I'm listening."

"Well, after that I watched them pretty closely. At dinner, they both kept looking at each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking. And then, Draco, when Neville left..."

"Yes...?" Draco prompted when Harry stopped.

"When he walked out the door, he turned back, just for a moment, and smiled at her."

Draco looked at him blankly.

"You know the smile I'm talking about, Draco. We've talked about it before, when we watched him interact with his _mimbulus mimbletonia_. He smiled at Pansy as though she were a plant that he held particularly close to his heart."

Draco's eyes widened with shock, and Harry knew he understood.

"You might just have something here, love. Any suggestions?

"Well, both Pansy and Neville live by themselves. I thought earlier today that it might be fun to entertain more often, especially because I can't bear to think of any of our friends eating dinner alone every night. Maybe we could have them over every Friday, or every other Friday, and then they could spend more time getting to know each other better."

Draco contemplated it for a moment. "That's not a half-bad idea, Harry. Also, I'll talk to Pansy and see if I can get anything out of her. You can do Neville, if you think you can get anything from him."

Harry's smiled then, a feral, lascivious smile. "Oh, I'd much rather do you, if you don't mind. I can get much nicer things from you, I'm sure."

As Draco stared into green eyes that were beginning to glow a bit around the pupil, he found himself feeling quite breathless.

"No, I don't believe I'd mind at all," he replied. It was the last coherent thought he had that night.


	6. Of Dominance and Submission

**A/N: **After "The Love of a Potions Master" drabble, I got a review from dog2345 asking why Harry can't top for once. I was completely dumbstruck for a few moments because, to me, Harry _is _the more dominant of the two. Then I looked back at all the previous sex scenes and I realized that the little slices of their sex life that I had written about did have Draco topping, even though I felt that Draco was dominant less frequently than Harry, especially once Harry got more control over his incubus. Thus, I wrote this chapter in hopes of explaining a bit better how I see Harry and Draco's relationship in respect to who is the dominant and who is the submissive. Thank you to dog2345 for pointing out my mistake and allowing me to clear up the confusion that undoubtedly resulted from it!

**Warnings for this chapter: **male-on-male sex, oral sex, rimming, dominant!Harry, a bit of rough play. For anyone who's not interested in the graphic details but still wants to know what's going on, this chapter explains how, while both Harry and Draco have dominant personalities, Draco finally admits to himself that he is the more submissive of the two.

Incubus Drabbles

Drabble #6: Of Dominance and Submission

Draco stretched lazily on their bed, the sweat of their previous shagging still cooling his skin, and rested his head on his folded arms. He watched his lover sleep with a deep sense of contentment, and contemplated how their relationship had changed since Harry had also become an incubus.

He couldn't have loved Harry more when Harry had been nothing more than a powerful wizard, but the activation of his dormant incubus gene had made some things tremendously easier... especially sex. Draco had always had to be so very _careful _during sex. Most of the time he had been restrained—by Draco's request, Harry had bought a set of leather wrist- and ankle-cuffs charmed to hold against even an incubus' superior strength—to insure that Draco didn't accidentally injure Harry. When they forewent the cuffs, Draco had to remain in at least partial control at all times—even during orgasm—which was difficult and took a bit of the fun out of it, considering orgasming was _supposed_ to be about losing control. Also, it took only minutes for Draco to be horny again. Harry could do two good rounds in close succession, but no more than that comfortably. They had had one incident where Harry, stupid, selfless Gryffindor that he was, had agreed to a third round even though he hadn't felt up to it. If Draco hadn't been himself enough to notice that his lover wasn't responding with the normal enthusiasm, he might have actually drank Harry dry. They had a long talk afterwards about how if Harry wanted to be able to trust Draco not to hurt him, Draco needed to be able to trust Harry to let him know when he had to stop.

That had been another problem they had struggled with: maintaining Harry's energy. As an incubus, Draco absorbed Harry's sexual energy during arousal and intercourse, causing his lover to feel even more drained after sex than he would have been normally. Harry had always consumed several Energy Potions every day, thoughtfully provided by Severus, and still he had often seemed unnaturally exhausted, causing Draco to worry that he was asking too much of his partner. Draco drank the potions, too, enabling him to demand a little less from Harry.

Now, as an incubus' power was made up of pure sexual energy, the two of them had a nearly endless supply that they could absorb from one another. They still drank Energy Potions to make up for the fact that they were both losing energy even as they gained it, but overall both felt much more energized than they had felt before. Draco no longer had to worry about breaking Harry's bones by grabbing too hard or clawing bloody furrows down his back. Even if he did hurt the preternaturally-strong Harry, his increased healing abilities made the injuries go away in twice the speed, and they were never life-threatening. Now, Draco could top whenever he wanted, without any restraint.

More often then not, though, Harry ended up taking the dominant role. As both men were rather dominant in nature, Harry had begun the tradition of wrestling for positions. Whoever won got to top. Harry was a slightly taller and a bit heavier than Draco, giving him an advantage, but Draco couldn't really find it in himself to mind too much. It reawakened his competitive side, and the feral gleam in Harry's eyes as they tumbled—even before they started to glow with power—aroused Draco to such extent that he wondered how he could have fought with this man for so many years and not realized sooner that he was attracted to him.

Unfailingly, it was Harry who started the tussle, and, unfailingly, Draco always ended up on his hands and knees, the customary position for the loser of the game. He had wondered, vaguely, if the outcome would be different if he tried being the initiator for a change.

With this question in mind, Draco started looking for an opportunity to start a "fight" with his partner. When Harry instigated things, he never bothered with an excuse—he simply pounced on Draco whenever the mood struck him. Draco, on the other hand, being a former Slytherin, had felt the need to be a bit more subtle.

He had finally gotten his chance earlier that evening, when Harry had come home late from work. Draco closed his eyes with a smile as he remembered.

Harry walked in the front door, looking tired. Draco knew that it was most likely an emergency at the hospital that had made him so late, but he'd been waiting for this opportunity for weeks now and, by Salazar, he was going to seize it.

Harry shot a smile towards the couch, where Draco had been sitting while he waited for him to come home, and turned to hang his cloak on the rack.

"You're late, Potter," Draco drawled, getting to his feet.

Harry looked up, surprised, in the middle of toeing his shoes off. Draco didn't understand his lover's inordinate fondness of traipsing around barefoot, but he never complained, as that was one less step he had to take when removing all of Harry's clothing. "I'm sorry, Draco. Today was a disaster and..." he trailed off as he noticed Draco's smirk and Draco caught a flare of understanding in Harry's eyes before his lover transformed from weary mediwizard to hungry predator. Harry stalked over to the couch in three long strides, an ominous grin on his face.

Draco, who had been expecting this, swept his leg around, caught the backs of Harry's ankles, and knocked him flat on his back. Harry hit the floor with a grunt, but Draco was on top of him before the sound had even escaped his lips.

"Excuses, excuses Potter," Draco hissed, smirking, straddling his lover's body and pinning his shoulders down.

"Damn it, Draco," Harry growled, arching his head up to kiss Draco hard. Draco told himself that he would not be distracted by Harry's mouthed pressed brutally against his own. His determination against any kind of preoccupation meant he was doubly surprised when he found himself being flipped backwards as Harry rolled them both around so that the raven-haired man was on top. Even now, Draco noticed, Harry's hand had come up to cushion his head as they tumbled. Harry always made sure that Draco never seriously got hurt when they played rough.

Harry grabbed Draco's shirt on either side and yanked, popping every single button from the third down in his haste to get him naked. Draco wondered what would happen when his partner found out that Draco was wearing one of Harry'sbutton-down shirts. He certainly wasn't foolish enough to wear one of his own nice shirts while knowingly provoking his lover. Harry had a tendency of destroying Draco's clothing.

Harry's tongue swiped across Draco's collarbone and up his neck, his teeth nipping less than gently at the sensitive skin. Draco's neck was one big hot spot, and Harry well knew it. Thus it was a few minutes too late that Draco realized that Harry's fingers had undone his belt and were busy working on the fastenings of his pants.

He had purposefully worn the trousers that had five tiny little buttons in place of one snap and a zip to give himself an advantage if Harry got that far. It worked. Harry's fumbling and cursing cleared his head enough to set his own fingers to work on Harry's slacks. If he could only get his hands on Harry's cock, he might just win this after all.

He made quick work of the fastenings on Harry's pants, and began to push them down his hips. He could almost taste the victory on his tongue...

And then, with a roar, Harry gave up on doing things like a civilized person and tore Draco's trousers from waist to crotch—Draco's fine, exceedingly expensive, perfectly fitted suede trousers.

Draco's horror at the mutilation of his apparel was his undoing. The shock consumed his brain just long enough for Harry to toss the ruined trousers across the room, followed shortly by his silk boxers.

Draco's mind reverted abruptly to the situation at hand when Harry's hot mouth engulfed his cock. Harry edged forward, forcing Draco's legs apart so that he could kneel between them. One of Harry's hands crept back to his own back pocket, retrieving the bottle of lube that kept permanent residence there. He fumbled the lid off and slicked his fingers with the slippery liquid before teasing lightly at his entrance.

Draco gave up any semblance of dignity as he squirmed, trying to increase the friction. "_Please_, Harry," he gasped.

Harry's grin was dark and full of promise as he pulled back to scoop Draco up into his arms. "Let's continue this in bed, shall we?" he questioned, already halfway down the hall. Draco could only nod helplessly.

When Harry dropped him onto their bed, Draco expected Harry to fuck him hard and fast. Instead, Harry took twice as long preparing him as usual, stretching him with his fingers, bumping purposefully against his prostrate again and again, fondling his balls with his lube-slicked fingers, and sucking his aching cock to the edge of completion before backing off despite Draco's increasingly desperate protests. Harry finally drew away and made a twirling motion with his pointer finger: an unspoken signal for Draco to turn over. The blond nearly sighed in relief as he rolled and rose to all fours, anxiously awaiting his release.

Harry wasn't feeling merciful yet, however. Instead of filling Draco with the expected length of cock, Harry spread his cheeks and flicked his tongue over the quivering muscles guarding his hole. Draco yelped in pleasure and surprise, and then moaned as Harry pressed the flat of his tongue across it before just barely breaching the stretched muscle.

In minutes, Draco was a gibbering mess. "Harry, Harry, please, I'm going to come like this, I want you inside me first, please, please, want you!"  
Chuckling low in his throat, Harry divested himself of the rest of his clothing.

"Turn back over," he whispered hoarsely.

"What?" Draco asked, his muddled brain not quite understanding the unexpected order.

"Turn over; I want to watch your face."

Draco did as asked, and Harry nudged Draco's knees up to his chest and let them drape over his shoulders before entering him slowly, causing both of them to moan.

Still Harry wasn't done teasing him. Instead of thrusting himself roughly in and out, he used slow, measured strokes, brushing against Draco's prostrate hard enough for him to feel it, but not hard enough for it to satisfy him. He kept up his agonizingly slow pace, ignoring Draco's attempts to shove himself onto Harry's cock faster, and appearing completely deaf to Draco's pleas.

Finally, Harry's control started to crumble. His strokes sped up slowly but surely, until, at the last, he was finally fucking Draco hard.

Draco came first, and, as often happened, Harry soon followed him. Harry had collapsed then and, after planting a gentle kiss on Draco's forehead, fell fast asleep.

Now, Draco wondered vaguely if he should wake Harry for dinner. He slid quietly out of bed and paused by the doorway to observe his lover from a distance. He looked so comfortable that Draco decided to leave him be. He padded to the kitchen without bothering to make any attempt to assemble his decimated clothing and pulled a plate of food out of the refrigerator. When Harry had been late for dinner, Draco had carefully put the food away so that they could eat after he had successfully beaten Harry at his own game. Thing hadn't gone quite as planned, but Draco didn't feel like it had been a failure, either. If losing felt this good, who needed to win? He cast a quick warming spell on his dinner and leaned against the counter to eat.

Harry stumbled in a few minutes later and was brought up short by the sight of a naked Draco eating dinner as calmly as though clothes were normally optional for meals. Harry had put on his slacks again, but it was clear he hadn't bothered with underwear. Or a shirt. He hadn't even fastened the snap on his pants, leaving them to ride precariously low on his hips.

Draco shook his head and told himself that drooling was unbecoming, even if Harry looked delicious. "Would you like some dinner?" he asked instead, gesturing to his plate.

"Food sounds amazing," Harry admitted, and sure enough, Draco could hear his stomach grumble from all the way across the room.

Chuckling, Draco pulled out the other plate, warmed it, and handed it to his lover. Harry grabbed a fork from the cutlery drawer and plopped down on a chair. Draco watched him eat for a few minutes until he realized that Harry was giving him a funny look.

"What's on your mind, Dragon?" his partner asked, putting down his fork and regarding Draco with a bit of concern.

Draco blushed just a little bit, feeling inexplicably awkward. "I was just wondering if... if it was all right, you know, what I did earlier. Starting the fight, I mean."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "All right? Try incredibly hot, perhaps, or maybe unbelievably arousing. Either phrase would fit much better than 'all right.'"

Draco grinned at him then. "I love you, Harry Potter."

Harry looked a bit surprised at his unexpected response, but grinned back. "I love you, too, Draco Malfoy."

They went back to eating in companionable silence, and Draco finally had to admit, even if only to himself, that he was the more submissive of the two.

At least now that he didn't have to worry about hurting Harry, he could be _actively _submissive. He wasn't sure why that made him feel better, but for some reason it did.


	7. The Apprentice Promoted

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Drabble #7: The Apprentice Promoted

Harry had spent the evening pouring over outlines of the patients currently in his charge, occasionally jotting sloppy notes in the margins. He shuffled the stack of his most recent patients to the bottom and sighed, sadly. He wished futilely that there was more he could do for them. He glanced at his watch again, noting with ever-increasing worry that Draco was nearly an hour late. Tardiness was very unlike Draco.

Harry decided that he would find some food to quiet his grumbling stomach—it had been Draco's night to cook—and then firecall Snape to find out if Draco was still at his potions session. Perhaps something had gone wrong with the potion they had been working on.

He had just opened the cupboard to see what he could scrounge when he heard the front door open.

"Draco?" he queried, making his way through the living room to the entry hall. His lover closed the door behind him and stepped forward, allowing himself to be enveloped in Harry's arms. He lowered his head to Harry's shoulder and clung to him tightly. Unsure of what was going on, only knowing that Draco was upset, Harry just held him for a long moment, trying to convey comfort and love through his touch.

"Draco? What's wrong, Dragon?" he murmured into Draco's fine blond hair. Draco's reply was muffled by Harry's neck. "What was that?"

Draco lifted his head a little. "Severus says that I'm ready to take over the lower level Potions classes. He wants me to take over the first years. Perhaps the second years, too, if I prove to be a competent teacher."

Harry's entire body went cold. He knew Draco had felt him tense, so he forced himself to relax to prevent troubling Draco further. When Draco had accepted the apprenticeship with Professor Snape, they had both known that Draco would eventually be asked to teach, and thus would eventually have to move to Hogwarts. They had accepted that... but they had expected "eventually" to be several more years away. They had never guessed that they might only get the chance to live together for just barely five months before being separated.

Harry took a deep breath. "That's great, Draco," he said firmly. Draco looked up and met his eyes warily. "It really is. This is what you've been working for. If it happens to have occurred a bit sooner than we had expected, it just proves how amazingly brilliant you are." He was pleased to see the corner of Draco's mouth quirk upwards at this. Harry lovingly touched a hand to Draco's face and Draco leaned into the caress. "I'm really happy for you, Dragon, and so very proud."

Draco closed his eyes tight, and Harry politely pretended that he hadn't noticed tears brimming there. "Thank you, Harry. That means a lot to me." He pressed himself close against his boyfriend again. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Let's get some take-away to celebrate, and then we can celebrate again in bed. Chinese or Thai?"

Harry watched raptly as Draco slept; memorizing the way is fair hair spilled across the pillow, rumpled from their earlier shagging; the way his bare chest rose and fell, slowly, evenly; the way his eyelids fluttered every few seconds; and the way a smile tugged his red, thoroughly-kissed mouth. He wondered what Draco was dreaming about. Harry had been strong and happy and supportive all evening, but now that Draco was fast asleep, he was beginning to crumble. He couldn't imagine sleeping without his lover's warm body curled against his every night, not cooking for him or being cooked for by him, not sharing their food and talking companionably about anything that came to mind, not hugging him or kissing him or making love to him, not curling up on the couch and snuggling... the tears were beginning to fall now, hot and heavy and painful, each one carrying a bit of his soul. He pressed a pillow to his face to muffle his sobs, and was thankful that Draco was a deep sleeper.

Harry squeezed Draco's hand reassuringly. He'd called in sick to work today so that he could be with Draco when he told Snape his decision. The silly receptionist that had answered the phone had obviously not believed that the Great Harry Potter _could _get sick. He'd bid her good day and hung up. He wasn't sure if she'd put him down as sick or not, and honestly he couldn't care less.

He and Draco stepped forward together through the Hogwarts gates. Harry hadn't been back to the school since he'd graduated, and it was with mixed feelings that he watched the old castle loom ever closer as they approached. Hogwarts had given him so much in the years that he had attended school there: friends, teachers who cared about him, a sense of belonging... and Draco. Now, it was going to take Draco away from him again.

"Are you ready?" he murmured in Draco's ear.

Draco sighed. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"You know I'll do whatever I can to make this easier, right? I'll Apparate to Hogsmeade whenever you think you can get away. Maybe I'll even be able to spend a few nights with you, if Dumbledore and the rest say it's okay."

"Yeah, I know. You're so good at being there for me," Draco whispered. "Thank you."

"No thanks are necessary. I love you, Draco."

"I love you, too, Harry."

"Come on; we don't want to be late."

Draco knocked firmly on the door to Snape's office, and pushed it open at the terse acknowledgment from the other side. As they entered, Snape nodded at each of them, seeming spectacularly unsurprised that Harry had accompanied Draco. Harry inclined his head politely to the Potions professor. They weren't exactly close, but Snape respectfully acknowledge that Harry made his godson extremely happy, and Harry knew that Snape truly cared for Draco as though he were his own son. Draco had informed Snape of their relationship right after the two boys first slept together. The professor hadn't been happy, but he had come to accept that the two boys were good for each other. Snape still frequently threw caustic remarks in Harry's direction, but Harry could hear a respect... and almost an _affection_... in them that had never been there before, enabling him to accept the comments with a laugh instead of being hurt or angered by them.

Snape put down the quill he'd been holding and looked intently at his godson. "What have you decided, Draco?"  
Draco took a deep breath and leaned slightly against Harry, who squeezed his hand again. "I have decided to take the position you have offered me. Thank you for the opportunity, Severus," he replied formally. Harry felt his stomach drop again as it was made official, but did his best not to let his distress show. Still, Snape looked sharply at each of them before crossing his arms.

"I feel as though I am missing something. I expected Draco promotion to be a joyful occasion, and yet the two of you stand before me as though it were a death sentence instead."

Snape stared at them, evidently expecting some sort of explanation, so when Draco didn't answer, Harry did. "It's just the... living arrangements, sir. It's really fantastic that Draco got this promotion, but neither of us are looking forward to having to live apart."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "I am well acquainted with your idiocy, Mr. Potter," he said in long-suffering tones, "but I must ask that you attempt to avoid infecting my apprentice with it. It is sure to put him off his potions."

"What do you mean, Severus?" Draco asked as Harry snorted at the barb.

"You will be teaching _first years only_, perhaps second years after a trial period. As far as your potion proficiency, you are prepared to teach up to sixth year advanced Potions. It is only your skill in teaching that I question, merely because I have not seen it in action."

"Oh, he's a great teacher, Professor," Harry cut in with an insolent grin. "He tutored me in potions before my mediwizard exam, and I passed with an above average score."

"Unfortunately, that is quite the stellar review," Snape agreed with a small smirk. "What I am trying to stress is that you will not be a full-time teacher for several more years, at least. I might not give you seventh year advance Potions until I am too decrepit to stir a potion ladle. I have to admit that I enjoy teaching somewhat competent students more complicated potions, though if more students like you, Mr. Potter, somehow manage to worm your way into my advanced classes I may have to change my opinion of them.

"The point is that as long as you are not a full-time professor, there is no reason for you to live the castle. In fact, not all of us professors have no outside lives whatsoever, as shocking as that may seem to you. Professors Vector and Sinistra both have husbands, perhaps even children, and they are allowed to spend most weekends at their homes unless they have school business—such as detentions or staff meetings—to attend to. The same would be allowed of you. Perhaps more, due to your... condition. It would probably be safer for all involved if you were able to visit Mr. Potter regularly and receive his... assistance with certain matters."

"Safer for my patients, too," Harry remarked.

Snape pinned him with his trademark sneer. "And why, may I ask, would Draco's absence from your household have any affect on your unfortunate patients, Mr. Potter?"

Harry frowned at him, confused. Snape wasn't generally known for being dense. "Well, for the same reason that his absence from my household would affect his students, of course." When the Potions professor's face remained blank, Harry turned to Draco, incredulous.

Draco gave him a small smile. "It's your secret, love. I had no reason to tell Severus, so I didn't."

Snape scowled at both of them. "It is impolite to exclude people from conversations, Mr. Malfoy. What have you not told me?"  
"He never told you that I'm an incubus, too," Harry supplied. "I just figured he had, what with you being his godfather, and all. I figured he told you everything."

"I do, generally," Draco agreed. "However, we'd agreed to keep our conditions as quiet as possible. I refrained from telling Severus until I had your explicit permission. I suppose I have it now?" Draco asked, raising a gracefully arched brow.

Harry laughed. "Yes, of course."

"Good. Severus, Harry's an incubus, too."

"I think I've figured that out now; thank you, Draco," Snape commented dryly, appearing torn between amusement and exasperation. "That is absolutely ridiculous. The odds against two oblivious partners _both _carrying an active incubus gene is unbelievably enormous. Only you, Mr. Potter. Only you." He shook his head. "Honestly."

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? I guess that, being the Boy Who Lived and all, subconsciously I couldn't let Draco continue to top me... as it were," Draco snickered slightly, "so I retaliated."

"Indeed." Turning to his godson, he asked, "I suppose you passed on to him all of what I taught you about controlling the urges when they occur at inopportune times and dampening the allure?"  
"Of course," Draco replied.

"And I suppose that since you are still accepting the Energy Potions I have been brewing for you that you are both still taking them?"

"Yes," the two men replied together.

"I am glad to see you have some modicum of sense in your heads. In light of this, there is no question that Draco will have as many opportunities to return to visit you as we can arrange. I may trust him to be able to maintain control for extended periods of time, but I unfortunately have no such conviction in you, Mr. Potter."

"Hey," Harry protested. "I can control myself. I haven't had an incident yet," he pointed out.

"There was that one close call in the pub," Draco reminded him. "During Ron's bachelor party."

"Yeah, but that was only a week after I'd changed!" he said defensively.

"And what occurred when you nearly lost control?" The Potions professor queried.

Harry sighed. "Draco took me home and... 'assisted' me, as you put it," he admitted.

"Exactly. Draco went for nearly a week immediately following his change and never once lost control until you purposefully and knowingly provoked him. In your case, however, Draco has been by your side since the moment your gene activated. You have not truly had to test your control. Once Draco begins to teach full-time, I believe it would be best to have Draco return home every night for the first few weeks. You can then try every other day, and then every three days, and so on as you build your control. As much as I know you would rather not be apart, I know the two of you well enough to realize that you do not appreciate being treated differently than everyone else."

Harry nodded. "That's true enough. It's a good plan, Professor."

"Thank you," he acknowledged. "However, there is no need to worry about that until Draco has to make his presence in the castle more permanent. For now, there is no reason why he can't go home every day after he's finished teaching. The Slytherin/Gryffindor first year class occurs the period before lunch, and the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class occurs the period after lunch. Draco could come before the first class, eat in the Great Hall, attend his second class, and then return home. If he needs to assign any detentions I can take them on for right now."

"Thank you, Severus," Draco said.

Snape nodded. "Now that this misunderstanding has been cleared up, I will ask you one more time: do you wish to take on the first year Potions classes?"  
"Yes, I do. Very much so."

"Good," Snape replied decisively. "Would you be available Monday morning so I can make an announcement to the school during breakfast? The staff will have already been informed by then, of course."

"Of course. See you Monday, Severus."

"Yes. I wish you luck in successfully getting anything to adhere in your students' tiny brains."

"Thank you," Draco said dryly.

"I don't think he'll need it, though," Harry added with a grin.

"We'll see. That will be all, gentlemen," he said dismissively.

"Bye, Severus," Draco said with a grin. "And thank you." Snape nodded and Draco slipped out the door, Harry a step behind him.

"Mr. Potter..." Snape began, sounding almost hesitant as Harry's hand grasped the door knob. Harry looked back questioningly. "As a mediwizard, do you know anything about the children recently admitted to Saint Mungo's?"

Harry's smile disappeared. "Yes. Children's medical needs are my specialization, in fact."

"Do you have an update on their conditions?" the professor asked, trying to seem neutral, but Harry could see the concern lurking in his dark eyes. "No one has thought it important to inform me of anything since the night they were admitted."

"We think that the older ones will most likely make it through all right. The younger ones... well, we're doing the best we can. We've lost two of them already, and it's hard to be sure about the rest just now. I suppose you're the one supplying the potions for them?" Snape nodded. "Good. I'm glad they're getting the best."

The potions master's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the compliment.

The door opened again. "Harry?" Draco queried, looking in puzzlement between his godfather and his boyfriend.

"Sorry, Draco, I'm coming. I got caught up talking with Professor Snape." Draco gave him a skeptical look. He was well aware that there was no love lost between the two of them. "I'll tell you about it when we get home."

Draco nodded his assent and stepped back out.

"Goodbye, Professor," Harry said politely, feeling as though his respect for the old potions master had risen several notches. Any man as concerned about the welfare of children as he appeared to be couldn't be that bad.

"Goodbye, Mr. Potter. You can tell Draco that I am looking forward to thrusting my more inadequate classes upon his young shoulders."

Harry laughed slightly. "I'm certain that he'll handle it all wonderfully."

"As am I, Mr. Potter. As am I."


End file.
